


A Rather Lovely Thing

by Kopious



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kopious/pseuds/Kopious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki sits in the dungeons of Asgard, pondering over his recent choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rather Lovely Thing

Remorse is a bitter feeling—remorse is regret, and sorrow; grief that pounds against the inside of your chest, pulling your heart down into your stomach. It makes you want to sob, and to scream—to choke, to apologize…to die.

The surge of raw emotion, rushing over my body in waves of black, never ceases. I feel hostile one moment, and then I am in ruins. Sometimes, anger is what dares to wash over me. It’s rather embarrassing, really. I have nothing to take my fury out on, and no one to complain to. All I can do is shriek. I throw my head back and cry out into the gloom that surrounds me. I continue to wail until my throat gives out, resulting in blood. I choke and weep.

Everything that I did was a mistake. All of the spiteful passion that I had felt was only fuelled by the tesseract and its control over me. They _all_ blame me, and the fact is that I should be answerable for the sad attempt to destroy Midgard, _but I do not want to_. They do not know how it truly is. They do not know the pent up frustration I oh-so desperately try to hold back, each and every time they bring up my accident again.

I want to apologize.

I cannot.

It is hard to speak when your lips are sewn shut.

_It has been a long time since I have seen any true light, other than that from a torch somewhere down the corridor of the dungeon._

I want to express my regret. It has been months since I last found sleep, for with every time slumber takes over my wretched body, I am shaken awake with nightmares.

_I can see myself with a weapon—sometimes a knife, sometimes my sceptre. There is always blood covering the floors, up and down my pale arms, and pooled around the body that I have mutilated. Now and then, I have killed Thor. More recently, it’s the hawk._

Clint Barton. I _ache_ for him.

When I first laid my eyes on him, he did not stand out at all. He was just as the rest—a scratch in my design. I wanted to waste him the very second that he dared to interfere with my ploy, but I was impelled to take him under my wing, per se. Only then did I find out, with enough prodding and the just amount of mind-control, that he and I were awfully similar. I empathised with the poor devil. I had found my weak spot. With discovering the tormented soul behind the vessel Clint had become, my only wish was to return him to SHIELD without any harm.

I’m sitting in the corner of my cell; head leaned against the wall, thinking about him.

I want to die.

_I want to tell him I am sorry._

What can be done? Nothing.

_Mulling over my life, now, gets me to thinking—remorse is a rather lovely thing. The need to repent for your flaws only proves how weak we truthfully are._

**Author's Note:**

> This was a brief drabble that I wrote almost a year ago. I've been encouraged to upload a few times, so here we go.
> 
> **EDIT** Damn this is old, lmao I'm gonna edit it eventually. Sorry it's...well, bad


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